


You Belong in the Sky

by TheUndiscoveredGenius



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Avengers vs X-men, Avengers: Disassembled, F/M, Uncanny Avengers Vol. 1 (2013), Young Avengers: Children's Crusade, author plays fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUndiscoveredGenius/pseuds/TheUndiscoveredGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, it's one of those: Five times Steve watched Wanda fly and the one time he joined her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Belong in the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> So I made [this post](http://ravingsofanundiscoveredgenius.tumblr.com/post/81236773079/guys-wanda-can-fly) which inspired [this post](http://ravingsofanundiscoveredgenius.tumblr.com/post/81339699741/re-assembled-inspired-by-this-post-yes) which in turn inspired this fic, it's the circle of fandom.
> 
> Comments are always welcome!

If he’s being perfectly honest (which of course he is, since he can’t lie to save his life), Steve isn’t sure exactly when Wanda gained the ability to fly. He knows it must have been after she started training with Agatha, but before her breakdown. Admittedly, that doesn’t narrow things down much.

Ordinarily this discrepancy wouldn’t bother him so much, he’s a busy man after all and Avengers are changing their names and powers constantly, and contrary to what some people seem to think, _no_ , he is not the team’s den mother, and _no_ , he is not responsible for keeping track of which name Hank is using this month or what costume Jan is styling this season _thank you very much_. But flight has always held a special fascination for him (and so has Wanda Maximoff- _damn his unremitting honesty_ ).

When he was six years old he had listened intently, along with the rest of the country, to the radio reports of Charles Lindbergh’s flight across the Atlantic. It had been a bad May that year and he was on mandatory bed rest at the time, but Lindbergh had fueled his imagination and inspired so of his earliest sketches. It wasn’t so much the technical aspects of it all, but rather the idea that caught his fancy. The freedom it seemed to offer, to be able to rise above the limitations of the day-to-day world and just take off to wherever your heart desired, touched a nerve in the sickly child. His interest was piqued and from then on he had followed the exploits of Amelia Earheart religiously, and sat through _Christopher Strong, The Dawn Patrol,_ and _Only Angels Have Wings_ more times than was probably healthy, and kept sketching, planes, birds, or just the open sky.

So when he saw Wanda hovering outside of his window one night he couldn’t help but reach for sketchbook. Almost on instinct he began to etch out her features, struck as always by just how beautiful she was, there was a warmth to her features and sadness lurking in her eyes which gave her an intriguing mixture of openness and mystery that artists have long aspired to capture. So engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice the look of uncertainty on her face until he paused to inspect his progress. It was only then that he realized Wanda had barely moved. She didn’t even seem to realize he was there, and come to think of it, he couldn’t recall seeing her fly before. With that he got up, opened the window, and called out Wanda’s name. Unfortunately upon doing so Wanda startled, let out a shriek of surprise, and then promptly fell two stories into the mansion’s rose bushes.

“I didn’t know anyone was watching.” She explained, after he had rushed out to get her, only to meet her in the entry hall covered in cuts and scratches, but otherwise fine.

“Sorry,” he said, awkwardly following her to the medical wing where he found her a bottle of disinfectant, “I didn’t realize you were a flier.”

“Well I’m not yet, right now it takes all my concentration just to stay in the air.” She winced as she applied the disinfectant to her open cuts. Raising the bottle to her eye level she gave a slight twitch of her nose and the bottle briefly glowed her trademark scarlet. Whatever spell she had cast seemed to have worked as from then on she applied the substance without trouble.

“Right, I sorta figured that out when you…” He trailed off when he saw the look Wanda was giving him. “Hey, you’ll get the hang of it, and when you do, promise me you’ll take me flying sometime.”

“If you insist Captain, but don’t be surprised if you end up in some shrubbery towards the end.” She teased, then having finished treating her cuts, she said goodnight and retired to her room.

Steve stayed up a little while longer, fleshing out his sketch while the memory was still fresh in his mind.

***

Wanda had figured it out eventually, but by that point she wasn’t particularly interested in taking him flying. It’s strange how what had inspired his dreams as a kid had also been a party to some of his darkest moments in adulthood. Zemo’s stolen plane and the explosion that sent him to an icy nap and Bucky to his… And now there was Wanda, hovering, effortlessly, above the ruins of Avengers Mansion. His first home after waking up in a strange new time, and the only real home she had ever known.

She was beyond reason at this point, but he didn’t know what else to do. There had always been an unspoken acknowledgment among those who were close to her that the limit to Wanda’s power was always going to be a great unknown. Chaos, by its very definition, must defy understanding, but this was beyond anything he had ever imagined. The soldier in him, the Captain, knew they should at least try to mount an attack, before anyone else lost their life, but the skinny twerp who just didn’t like bullies resisted, she wasn’t the villain here, but then, who was?

His mid-battle philosophical ponderings were put on hold when Strange moved to confront Wanda and along with the rest of the Avengers, he turned his attention to her latest batch of conjurings, until suddenly, they were gone. Vanished as quickly as they had come, unable to quench the feeling of dread brewing in his gut, he turned again towards the ruins and saw Wanda, unmoving, falling from the sky. Instinct took over and he ran to catch her.

“Wanda,” He whispered her name, but got no response. For a moment he feared the worst until he saw her drawing breath. She was alive then, and just as beautiful as she always was, in the back of his mind lines from a long forgotten poem began to crystalize. _He said, “She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace…”_

Then Magneto came for her, and in his grief he made one of his greatest errors, he handed her over. He shouldn’t have done it; he realized that even before Erik had disappeared, but holding her in his arms he’d been overwhelmed by a feeling of unworthiness. Of the three young recruits entrusted to his care and guidance all those years ago, one was dead, another was MIA, and the third was in his arms, seemingly broken beyond repair. He’d failed them just as he’d failed Bucky, and for the first time in years he found himself questioning why he’d been pulled from the ice.

So he foolishly handed Wanda over to the very man whose cruelty had driven her to the team in the first place. And as he watched Erik fly her away from him he didn’t feel like Captain America. He felt like a bedridden kid again, dreaming of flight, but grounded among the ruins of a broken home, and a broken dream.

Eventually he sensed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he let Sam guide him back to his apartment.

***

That feeling of helplessness resurfaces the next time he sees her. She’s going away, away from the Avengers, away from her family, and away from him. He’d tried to get her to stay, offering her a place on the team and dusting off that old _“once an Avenger…”_ adage, but her mind is made up and he doesn’t really push too hard. It’s not like him to back down, but that’s Wanda for you, the ordinary doesn’t really apply. And since he has to be honest with himself, he knows he has no right to ask her to come back. Simon was right, he’d failed her, they’d all failed her. (Though he could have done without the lecture, because _really_ , who died and made Mr. “No-means-keep-trying-till-you-wear-me-down” the expert on what Wanda needs? _And no, Captain America most definitely does not get jealous!-But Steve totally does._ )

So he just stands there and watches as she lifts off into the air, briefly levitating above the city before she teleports away in a bright flash of scarlet light. Through it all he can’t take his eyes off of her. When she’s gone he lingers there after the others start to disperse. Simon has gone, but across the makeshift battlefield he can make out Clint, with a similar expression of confusion and awe on his face. They lock eyes for a moment, and Logan’s words from earlier come back to him.

_"You were in love with her too.”_

Without a word he crosses over to him, they’re both in desperate need of a drink, or two.

***

The next time he gets to see her fly Clint isn’t there with him, but just about every other Avenger alive is. They’re in Wakanda, the X-Men have been possessed by the Phoenix Force and have gone mad with power, and Wanda seems to be the only one who can harm them. Clint’s status is currently unknown; the son of a bitch had thrown himself in front of a Phoenix-powered Emma Frost to buy him and Wanda a chance to escape. Wanda hadn’t taken it well, none of them ever do when one of the quartet is in danger. The silver lining to this though, is that when Namor launches an attack he encounters a Scarlet Witch who is through holding back.

It’s easy to forget just how powerful Wanda is, he knows for a fact that among the general public, as well as Avengers aficionados, debate typically focuses around the likes of Thor or Hulk. He suspects this has a lot to do with how they look, for they do fit a lot of people’s hyper masculine image of strength (though as a child raised by a single mother, he’s never really trusted those who make such an association), and when you’re watching the Avengers doing battle on the news it’s only natural that the big muscle heads on screen would be easiest to make out. Wanda by contrast, doesn’t draw attention to herself, she isn’t as flamboyant as Jan or Tony, or as tough as Carol, in fact as long as you do your job and don’t make her lose her temper it’s easy forget she’s there. But then she’ll unleash her hex power, tame the supposedly untamable power of Chaos Magic, and take down one of the once unstoppable phoenix five, and suddenly you’re reminded that she has the powers of a God. And how truly remarkable it is, that she’s never chosen to think of herself as such.

And it’s about here when he comes to the horrifying realization that what Logan had said all those months ago had been right, his interest in Wanda might indeed run beyond friendship, which only makes the surge of jealousy worse when he sees that the Vision has caught the over exerted Witch and carrying her to safety, though it does remind him that they are currently in the middle of an evacuation so now is not the time to start figuring out his love life.

He’ll do that later ( _by which, of course, he means never_ ).

***

He really did mean to think about it, especially after Sharon’s proposal, but things kept coming up, bad things, that haunted his dreams and kept him on edge during the waking hours. Memories of Ian, Sharon, and Dimension Z, but also nightmares, of men standing over him, men he thinks are his friends, Tony, Namor, but they didn’t seem very friendly. Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what. He was missing something, right under his nose, but what?

All of this was playing out while he also had to contend with his usual Avengers duties, which now included trying to hold together a team that argued more than the quartet had. It wasn’t like he couldn’t handle it ( _he didn’t survive the depression and the war just to be undone by a couple of catty mutants after all_ ), it was just that it was a lot to take in, and he needed a breather every once in a while.

At least that’s what he told himself as he retreated into one of the mansion’s unused bedrooms. He had been in there all morning, converting the space into a makeshift office in order to finish up some team paperwork. When he was finally finished he meant to get back to the team, but then as he’s walking down the stairs he hears an all too familiar sound coming from the parlor and he stops. He knows that he should go down there and give Alex a hand, help smooth things out, but he really doesn’t want to deal with this again, he’s exhausted, and he just _really_ wants to be selfish this one time and after all it isn’t technically his team, so he sneaks back into his hideout and tries to catch a quick nap.

That doesn’t go so well. Sometimes Steve wonders if he’ll ever have a good night’s sleep again. Still not wanting to go downstairs he went to the window and leant his head out. It was a beautiful spring day; the trees and gardens surrounding the mansion were all a rich shade of green. Had he felt better his fingers would have surly itched for a pencil and some sketch paper, but as it was the world outside couldn’t have been a poorer fit for his mood, and he found himself letting out a frustrated groan.

“I know the feeling,” a familiar voice noted.

Leaning further out the window, Steve noticed Wanda, just to his left, sitting at her own windowsill with a book in hand.

“Sorry,” he apologized, a faint blush at the tips of his ears, “I didn’t know you were there.” After an awkward pause he added, “So, that’s your room?”

“Oh no Captain,” She says, barely looking up from her book. “It’s Simon’s, haven’t you heard? We’re giving it another go.”

He can feel his face flare up in anger before he can get his emotions under control, while he clenches the windowsill so tight it’s a miracle the woodwork doesn’t splinter. Suddenly Wanda lets out a series of girlish giggles, the likes of which would have been like nails on a blackboard had they come from most people, but this was Wanda. Sure enough Steve felt his anger subside as a flock of butterflies took off in his stomach at the sound and the storm in his mind clears for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Can you do that thing with your nostrils again?” She said between giggles, imitating what he guesses is supposed to be his face when he thought she’d actually taken Simon back. “Honestly, I know Simon has been a great annoyance to the Avengers these past few years, but does he really irritate you that much?” Then she starts laughing again.

“It’s not that funny.” He mutters.

“Oh, but I’m afraid it is Captain.”

Trying to change the subject, “What are you reading?”

Glancing down at the book in her hands, as if she’d forgotten about it, she replies, “ _Anna Karenina_.”

Steve nods, “A story of betrayal.” Suddenly the storm is back.

“Among other things,” As if sensing his change in mood Wanda silently slips over the windowsill and floats over to Steve’s window where she places her hand on his forehead, as if checking for a fever.

“You know I don’t get sick Wanda.”

She blushes, but doesn’t with draw her hand. “Well something’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing.” She’s unconvinced, “Just bad memories.”

Still not convinced, but she changes the subject. “The roses are lovely this year.”

“They are,” In all honesty he hadn’t really noticed, but he welcomes the change in topic, “You better make extra care not to crush them.” He hadn’t thought about that night in years, he’s surprised he even brought it up, and for a moment he’s worried that she’ll take it the wrong way, perhaps think he’s referring to her later, more thorough, destruction of the property.

“Now wait a minute, I seem to recall that you were the one who broke my concentration.”

“Who, me?” Relief washes over him, “Naaah, you must be thinking of that other Steve Rogers, he comes in to clean the pool once a week, skinny little twerp, real pain in the ass…” He trails off.      

“Well then, would you give him this for me the next time you see him?” Wanda snaps her fingers, a below them a single rose disconnects itself from the bush and levitates its way up to them. She grabs ahold of it and hands it to him.

“I’ll make sure that he gets it.” An awkward silence settles in then. _He really isn’t good at this_. He twirls the rose between his fingers, mindful of the thorns at first, before he realizes that they’ve been magiced away. Looking up again he says, “I’m not going to recite the balcony scene, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

She laughs. “Well Shakespeare lost me after _The Merchant of Venice_ , so you’re in the clear.”

He kind of hated that he couldn’t use his ice nap to excuse his lack of familiarity with the Bard, but his mental rundown of what she could be talking about was cut short when he suddenly realized that the hand Wanda had put on his forehead earlier had snuck around to the back of his neck. This revelation was followed by his noticing the sudden closeness of Wanda’s lips, and then…

Wanda’s lips tasted of spices; they tickled his lips and drove him mad with desire for more. Somewhere the part of his mind that didn’t know when to shut up was pondering what she could have had for lunch. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, he’s making out with a teammate who’s hovering outside his window, in the middle of broad daylight, at a major city tourist attraction, but goddamn it, he didn’t care!

Breaking apart Wanda whispers, “You didn’t distract me that time.”

Steve just smiles, feeling happier than he has in months (though still not as happy as the Japanese tour group passing the mansion that got some of the best vacation photos imaginable), and eventually he says jokingly, “You know you promised you’d take me flying when you got the hang of it.”

***

He’s flown before obviously, it’s sort of inevitable in his line of work. He’s piloted several models of quinjets, not to mention gotten a lift from an array of teammates. He’s ridden on Iron Man’s boot, or gotten shoved awkwardly under Thor’s arm (his face too close to the demigod’s arm pit for comfort), Carol’s carried him bridal style on a few occasions (though he still doesn’t understand why it had to be in that specific position), and of course there’s Sam, who’s saved his ass too many times to count. This however, is something completely different; he’s only come close to experiencing this sort of thing once, when he’d gone to bring Billy in, but he was still coming into his powers, and the trip had been a little bumpy, right now it’s almost possible for Steve to forget that he hasn’t been doing this his whole life.

Steve looks to his left where Wanda is flying next to him, their hands barely touching. She looks at him, silently asking if he trusts her, he gives her a reassuring smile, and she lets go. It’s the most incredible feeling.

He’s seen a lot of different sides of New York in his time, but this tops all of them. It’s as wonderful as he’d dreamed it would be all those years ago when he’d sketch the seagulls at Coney Island. Below him is a sea of cars, backed up as far as the eye can see, and between the car horns and swears he can hear the startled cries of onlookers. He’d left his gloves and helmet at the mansion, but that doesn’t really make the uniform any less noticeable. He gamely smiles and waves to the onlookers, before he ascends higher until they’re just specks. _There has to be a way to convince Sam to swap costumes once in a while._

Then he makes his way to the harbor where he just relishes the smell of the sea air while he soars over the ocean. The wind is whipping through his hair, and he really wishes he had a cape right now.

Somewhere between Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty he becomes aware of how hot the sun beating down on him really is, and that reminds him of the story of Icarus he’d read as a kid, which in turn leads him to remembering that he’s supposed to be with someone. He turned back to look at the city in the distance, confirming that he had left Wanda behind, _shit_.

“Christ, Rogers,” He said to himself, “You sure know how to treat a lady.”

“Oh now, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Came a voice from behind him, he turned and sure enough, there was Wanda floating into view from up above, and pausing when they were at eye level.

“You must think I’m an awful jerk. Look, Wanda I’m really…”

“Please, don’t apologize Steve,” She reassured him, “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“I was.” He reassures her, “I am. I feel better than I have in a long time.” That’s putting it mildly; all his nightmares seem to have been left on the ground with his gear.

“I’m very glad to hear that.” Wanda beams at him, “My powers… They can be very unpre... I just… I’m very glad I was able to make you happy, Steve. Thank you for trusting me” She stared downward, refusing to make eye contact.

There’s more to it obviously, but she hadn’t pushed him, and so he returned the favor. Suddenly she lifts her head so that he’s staring straight into her emerald eyes.

“I’ve been married already, I’m not sure if I’m looking for anything so serious again.” She says it quickly, but resolutely.

“I’ve got tons of baggage. I don’t always talk about it like I should, and sometimes I’m not at liberty to talk about it.”

“You don’t exactly hold a copyright on emotional baggage you know.”

“There’s a café on Ellis Island, it’s supposed to be nice.”

“Support our national parks and all that? Sounds lovely”

Neither of them moves their eyes remain locked on the other, their bodies far closer than necessary. Then Wanda pulls him towards her and they’re making out again.

It takes him a little while to notice, but after Wanda throws her arms around him there’s a subtle shift in the spell that’s keeping him aloft. The power seems to congregate around his back, where her arms are wrapped tightly, leaving his feet dangling in the air, once again subjected to the laws of gravity. In the back of his mind he’s conscious of this, but he finds he doesn’t care. In fact he rather likes it; the sudden weight of his boots reminds him how helpless he’d be right now without the woman in his arms. He owed this sense of relief to her, he trusted her, hell he probably loved her. So he just relaxes into Wanda’s arms, relishing the feeling of freedom from the trouble that waited for him back on the ground.


End file.
